


midnight, daybreak

by ewagan



Series: SASO 2017 Fills [15]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Magical Realism, Pudding, vending machines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 21:14:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11722674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewagan/pseuds/ewagan
Summary: Osamu? Well, he has a date with the Premium Pudding vending machine outside the laundromat.





	midnight, daybreak

**Author's Note:**

> thanks lark for enabling me smh
> 
>  
> 
> [prompt here](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/24808.html?thread=15023848#cmt15023848)

There’s something surreal about being at a laundromat at 1am, but it’s where Osamu is as he yawns, waiting for his laundry to finish so he can shove it in the dryer. Atsumu’s no help as usual, Osamu’s not even sure why he’s here really. There are claims of  _missing my beloved twin_  and  _I don’t even see you during holidays now like, the last time I saw you was during New Year’s and it’s already May_  but Osamu frankly believes it’s more likely boredom that brought him over. There’s barely enough space for him in Osamu’s tiny dorm room, never mind squeezing in Atsumu. Nonetheless, Atsumu is more than welcome to stare at the swirling cosmos of laundry.  
  
Osamu? Well, he has a date with the Premium Pudding vending machine outside the laundromat.  
  
It’s a curious thing, the vending machine. Osamu’s not sure if it’s only him who sees it, but he doesn’t much care. There’s only ever three choices despite it being a regular sized machine, and Osamu’s never really questioned it. It promises pudding, and it always delivers unusual flavours. They’re different every time Osamu comes, but he’s seen pudding labelled first snow, sunlight through the windows, middle school graduation, mum’s smile, as well as more run of the mill flavours like chocolate, matcha, and calpis.  
  
Today’s options are summer’s wish, new year’s morning and strawberry cream. He stares at them a while, wondering what each might taste like. Finally, he settles on new year’s morning and inserts 300 yen. The pudding comes out with a  _clang_ , perfectly ordinary if faintly redder than it should be. He takes the pudding back inside with him where Atsumu is still watching the clothes spin, a blur of colours and bubbles. He looks up when Osamu sits next to him, and starts pouting at the sight of the pudding cup in Osamu’s hand. Osamu can almost hear the unspoken questions as Atsumu eyes his pudding,  _where’s mine_  and  _can I have some_.  
  
“No.” Osamu cuts him off before he can ask, and the pout gets bigger. Osamu wonders how is it that Atsumu’s the older of the two of them, when he behaves more like a five year old despite being almost half an hour older than Osamu.  
  
“Just a tiny spoonful?” Atsumu wheedles, but Osamu’s focus is on his pudding. It gleams under the fluorescent lights, and the first spoonful is like waking up too early, when the horizon is still dark and you can hear the steady breathing of someone sleeping in the same room. The next mouthful is the cold floor through your socks, chill of the window pane as you lean your face against it to peer outside.  
  
He eats it slowly, and it’s like watching the sunrise, air cold enough to see your breath, huddled next to your twin because it’s a thing you do every year, never mind that he whines and complains it’s too early to be up and you know it’s because he only went to bed an hour ago. It’s sitting there until you can see the sun edging over the horizon and taste something like hope on your lips, something like anticipation. It’s contentment and restless energy simmering under your skin, waiting, waiting.  
  
The last spoonful he saves for Atsumu, but he knows what it will taste like. It will taste like sun warmed cheeks but cold noses, something faintly sweet and nostalgic mixed with the breathless beginnings of a new day. There was a hint of it in his last mouthful, and he watches Atsumu’s face scrunch up and still suddenly as he takes the last mouthful. It will taste like a secret, a smile and a promise, like the tea they make to share, until their mother comes down and has a cup too, then the smell of breakfast cooking. French toast made by their mum, because that’s what they have on New Year’s mornings even though they’re both capable of making it themselves now, then crawling back to bed.  
  
Maybe Osamu doesn’t know why Atsumu’s really here, but he thinks he’s grateful for it, leaning against him in a laundromat at 1am, watching the laundry spin in endless circles and the taste of pudding lingering like a memory.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments appreciated!
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ewagan)!


End file.
